


I'll Know My Name As It's Called Again

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Brief suicidal ideation, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sereda finds Gorim in Denerim, and struggles with her identity in the wake of receiving a package from her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Know My Name As It's Called Again

Sereda is walking through the streets of Denerim with Zevran, Alistair, and Valda, browsing at the various stalls.  She’s never been to a topside market that’s quite so large before.  It’s not that different from Orzammar, though.  Loud noises and lots of people pressed in way too close together.  She likes it, especially because there are so many more kinds of people in Denerim.  In Orzammar, it’s almost entirely dwarves, but here, there are dwarves and humans and elves and even qunari.  

They’re just browsing casually, and Sereda is looking for a new belt.  It’s a fairly normal afternoon until she hears a familiar voice shouting.  It can’t be.

“Dwarven crafts!  Get your fine dwarven crafts here!” 

She turns back to Zevran and Alistair, trying to keep her voice as level as possible.  She doesn’t want any of them to know how off kilter she feels. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sereda says.  “Just… feel free to browse or whatever.”

“Everything okay?” Alistair asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course!” Sereda says, voice too high.  “But, uh, Zevran, would you mind taking Valda?”

The familiar voice is still shouting his wares, and it takes everything that she has not to sprint over there and see if she’s right.

“What do you say, Valda?  Want to look for some gloves?  Maybe some treats?” Zevran asks, patting Valda’s head.

Valda gives an approving woof and Sereda flashes a smile.  

“I’ll see you guys soon!” Sereda says quickly.

She darts off before either of them can say anything else to her.  The pull of the familiar voice is too much to resist.  It’s funny because it’s not a particularly alluring voice or a smooth one.  It doesn’t wrap around her alluringly like Zevran’s voice does; it digs into her almost violently.  The voice is like gravel in her ears, scratching into her brain.

Sereda rounds the corner and sees Gorim standing there.  He was her second and he is the last real vestige of home that she has left.  Just seeing him knocks the breath out of her.  

Part of her wants to run towards him and part of him wants to run far, far away.  Now that she’s seen him, Sereda doesn’t know if she can possibly face him.  

A second- especially the second to a princess, to a commander- should receive glory and honor for themself and their House, not to mention riches.  All Gorim received for his unending loyalty was exile.  She knows that if he had turned on her and said that she had killed Trian, he could be sitting in Orzammar right now, probably with a large stack of gold. 

But if she knows Gorim, he’s been wondering about her wellbeing even more than she’s been wondering about his.  It wouldn’t be fair to leave him without answers.  She owes him too much to run away.  His loyalty saved her life.

So she steels herself, taking a deep breath, and approaches him.  Sereda manages to keep at a steady walk, not quite running to him.  

“Gorim,” Sereda says when she’s finally in front of him.  Her voice sounds embarrassingly breathy, and she’s glad she sent her companions off on their own.  “It’s good to see you.”

She watches as the surprise shifts into a large smile and Gorim bows.  “My lady Aeducan!  It’s a relief to see you alive.”

Sereda grasps his shoulders gently and eases him upright.  “You don’t have to bow to me, Gorim, and you can just call me Sereda.  There’s no need to stand on ceremony anymore.”

“I know the truth, my lady, and you will always be a princess to me,” Gorim says.

She’s spent the entirety of her time on the surface trying to forget about everything that happened on the day of her commission.  That nobody knows her or anything about Orzammar politics has certainly helped.  But, of course, Gorim knows everything, and she can’t forget with him standing in front of her.  

Her stomach clenches and she forces herself to smile.  She realizes that she’s still holding Gorim’s shoulders.  Whoops.  Hoping that she looks more composed than she feels, she lets go of him, arms falling awkwardly to her sides.  

“You seem to be making a good living as a merchant,” Sereda says, looking at the stall behind Gorim.  There’s an impressive display of goods, all finely made dwarf armor.  She certainly would have stopped to browse even if Gorim wasn’t the merchant.

“My wife’s father makes the goods and I sell them,” Gorim says hesitantly.  

Sereda presses her lips together.  Part of her had wanted to invite Gorim to join her on her quest.  The thought of having her oldest and dearest friend with her is intoxicating.  Not just that, but unlike any of her current companions, Gorim understands exactly what it's like for a dwarf to be exiled to the surface.  But it would be unbearably selfish to ask, knowing that he has a wife and a life here.  

“So, you're happy, then?” Sereda asks.  She could tear him away from an unhappy life, but not from one that he’s enjoying.  

“Yes,” Gorim says firmly.  “My wife is even expecting a child.  Who ever would have thought?  Gorim Saelac, happily married surface dwarf?”

Sereda smiles and nods.  She won’t ask.  “Good.  So, the real question is when do I get to meet this wife of yours?”

Gorim looks relieved at her reaction.  “Whenever you want, my lady.”

“Good.  And, Gorim, I'm glad that you're happy up here.  I've been… worried about you.”

“My lady, you should not have troubled yourself so,” Gorim says. 

“Gorim, with everything that happened, you were the dearest friend I had left.  A lesser man would have saved himself; instead, I owe you my life,” Sereda says.  “What happened to you was my fault, and I'm just glad that it didn't bring you to ruin.”

“What happened was the result of Prince Bhelen’s machinations, my lady, and all I did was my duty,” Gorim says.  

“Then thank you for that, at least,” Sereda says.  

“And how about your own happiness?” Gorim asks.  

Sereda thinks about being hunted, about trying to figure out this whole stupid topside world.  But she finds herself nodding anyway.  

“You know, I never thought I'd like it up here, but despite everything, I'm pretty happy,” Sereda says honestly.  “It's good to be away from politics and the like, even if things are still plenty complicated up here.”

Gorim laughs.  “When this is all over, you'll have to let me buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it.”

“I'd like that,” Sereda says, nodding a little.  

Gorim looks downcast suddenly and opens his mouth to say something when Sereda feels a hand on her shoulder.   She turns and looks up to see Zevran.  

“My dear Warden, I'm afraid there’s been an incident,” Zevran says.  “Some guards have recognized Alistair.  He and Valda are giving them merry chase, but we should probably retreat to camp for now.  They’ll be looking for a stunningly beautiful dwarf and her handsome elf assassin.”

Sereda nods quickly and turns back to Gorim with an apologetic look on her face.  “I’m sorry.  I have to go.”

“I have something for you,” Gorim says.  He leans over and hands her a rather large package.  “It’s from your father.”

“Do I even want to know?” Sereda says dryly as she takes the package from him.

“That’s up to you, my lady,” Gorim says.  “He’s sick, and, well, the rumors aren’t good.”

“Great,” Sereda whispers to herself, shaking her head.  She looks up into Gorim’s too-understanding face.  “Thank you.  And take care of yourself, okay?”

“From the sounds of it, you’re the one who has made powerful enemies up here,” Gorim says.  

“Well, what else is new, right?” Sereda says with a shrug.  

“They won’t know what hit them.  Ancestors know I never did,” Gorim says, rubbing his chest.  

“Hey, if you’d move a little faster, you’d get hit less often.  Trian taught me that,” Sereda says.  She looks and sees some guards coming down the alley.  Shit.  “Gotta go.  If any of the guards ask, you have no idea who I am, okay?  Don’t get hurt on my account.”

“Be safe,” Gorim says.

“Promise me,” Sereda says sternly.  It’s the tone she gives orders in, orders that she expects to be strictly obeyed.  “No matter what they say.  You don’t know me.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gorim says with a bow.  “Take care.”

“You too,” Sereda says, backing away and almost running into Zevran.  “It was so good to see you.”

“If you need anything… I will always be your man, my lady Aeducan,” Gorim says.  

“That means everything to me,” she says, inhaling sharply.  Sereda turns to look up into Zevran’s too curious face.  “I’d rather not have to fight my way out of Denerim, yet.”

“I agree, my dear Grey Warden.  If you follow me, a friend told me about a few back alleys that we can slip down,” Zevran says.  

“Lead the way,” Sereda says, getting a tight grip on the package that Gorim handed her.  

Zevran is watching her closely, clearly intrigued by what he saw between her and Gorim.  Luckily, they don’t have the time to talk about it right now.  All there’s time for is her following Zevran down some dark alleys.  

They make it out of the city without attracting any more attention, and they see Alistair and Valda waiting for them.  

“You okay, Valda?” Sereda says, patting his head while trying to keep ahold of the package. 

“We’re both  _ fine _ , thank you,” Alistair says.

“Are you okay, Alistair?” Sereda asks, looking up at him with a grin.  “If you bend down, I’ll pat your head, too.”

“Yeah?  Maybe later,” Alistair says.  “For now, I think I’d really, really like to get going before more city guards try to take off my head.”

“Ah, Alistair, they would probably drag you to the fort for interrogation before killing you publicly.  You’re quite the catch and they would want to make the most of it,” Zevran says, stretching leisurely as they walk back to camp.  

“That’s less than reassuring, Zevran, thank you,” Alistair says dryly.

“You are welcome, my friend,” Zevran says.

Valda nuzzles at the package that she’s gripping with a whimper, almost causing it to slip out of her hands.  

“There’s nothing in there for you, Valda,” Sereda scolds gently.  She’s not even sure if there’s anything in there for her.

“D’you want me to carry that for you?  Seems kind of heavy,” Alistair says, already reaching for it.

Sereda jerks back.  “No!” She forces her voice to a slightly more normal tone.  “Sorry, it’s just something personal is all.”

“Sorry,” Alistair mumbles.  

They make it back to the camp without any pursuit, and Sereda ducks into her tent without looking at anyone.  She sets the package from Father carefully down, removing her armor and scooting to the far end of her tent.  Feeling like a child, she tucks her knees under her chin.

The bright, cloudless, sunny day matches her mood.  On days like today, the sun beats down on her and turns her skin all red and blistered.  Sunny days are too hot and too bright to see clearly.  The sky stretches above her, unending, and she’s reminded of the old folktale about surfacers falling into the sky.  It’s foolish, of course, but she can’t help but silently wonder if there isn’t some kernel of truth in it.

She prefers overcast days, where the sun is hidden and the clouds give the illusion of a ceiling.  They tend to be cooler, and even if it rains, it’s much more pleasant weather, in her opinion.  

But today she doesn’t feel pleasant; she feels blistered and like she’s feeling everything too brightly, even though she’s inside her tent.  She doesn’t even know if she wants to see what Father has sent her.  Maybe an apology or maybe a condemnation.  Honestly, she isn’t sure which would be worse.

Sereda is still staring hard at the package when she hears a soft knocking at her tent flap.

“My dear Warden, are we changing course to Orzammar?” Zevran asks softly from outside her tent.

Sereda opens the tent flap, shaking her head.  “No. We go to Haven to find Brother Genitivi and the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

“But according to that dwarf...”

“His name is Gorim.”

“According to Gorim, your father is sick,” Zevran says.  “It sounded bad.”

“I heard.  Dwarves don’t usually get sick, so it’s a sign that he’s getting older,” Sereda says.  Or that someone is poisoning him, but she can’t exactly mention that possibility.  “But we can’t divert to Orzammar.”

“I am certain that everyone would understand if you wanted to go see your father,” Zevran says.  “We will have to go Orzammar anyway, and could easily pass by the entrance on the way to Haven, no?”

He’s looking at her with too much understanding and care that she has to go back to staring at the package.  

“Duty comes first,” Sereda says, shaking her head.  “We can’t stop in Orzammar because we’ll get stuck there.  We don’t have time.”

“Is that not one of the benefits of being in charge?” Zevran asks, settling in next to her.  “My lady.”

Sereda tilts her head to face him, resting her cheek on her knees.  She looks him up and down.  His eyes are darting between her and the package, curious.

“Let’s make a deal,” Sereda says with a resigned smile on her face.  

“What do you propose?” Zevran asks.

“I know you’re curious about me, but don’t mention anything that you heard Gorim said.  Don’t ask why he called me ‘my lady.’  Don’t ask about my father or my powerful enemies or anything else.  Just… leave it alone, please,” Sereda says, failing to keep the exhaustion from creeping into her voice.  “But after we’re done in Orzammar, you can ask any questions about me that you want and I’ll answer.  No matter how invasive the question.”

“Ah, but what if you tire of me before Orzammar?” Zevran asks.  There’s just a hint of seriousness underneath his sly grin.  “Unlikely, given how ridiculously good looking I am, but still.  I would hate to miss out on the chance to learn more about our enchanting leader.”

Sereda frowns a little bit.  “You’re part of the team, Zevran.  More than that, I like you as a person.” 

Zevran chuckles, looking away from her to look at the package.  “Of course, you do.  I inevitably charm my way into the hearts of all.  However, some of your companions are shamefully impervious to my charms.”

“They’re not mistreating you, are they?” Sereda asks with some concern.  

She can’t imagine Alistair or Leliana being cruel, but she knows that Morrigan wasn’t pleased at all that she let Zevran join them.  

“No, no, do not fear my dear Warden,” Zevran says.  “Nothing like that.”

“Good,” Sereda says.  “Look, you’re not planning on trying to fill your contract, are you?  Or sell us out to Loghain?  Or otherwise betray us and get us killed?”

“I have sworn you an oath of loyalty, and I do not intend on breaking it,” Zevran says seriously.   

“Then you don’t have to worry about me ‘tiring’ of you or about someone else’s opinion of you getting you kicked out.  I wouldn’t make you leave just because of a personal issue,” Sereda says.  Not that she can imagine not wanting Zevran around.  She has a horrible realization.  “That’s not why you’re sleeping with me, is it?  Because you think you have to?  You don’t.”

Zevran touches her arm lightly.  “As I have said, I have learned to take my pleasures where I can find them, and I assure you that I have no ulterior motives.  I quite enjoy finding pleasure with you.”

Sereda’s lip twitch upwards.  “Good.”  

“I will take your deal, my beautiful Warden,” Zevran says softly.  “No questions until after we’ve visited Orzammar, and then all your secrets will be mine.”

Her smile turns sad.  At least she’s bought herself some time.  “Thank you.”

Zevran surprises her by cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb tenderly over her lips.  “I will only ask you dirty questions.”

Sereda snorts and turns to kiss Zevran’s palm.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“You intrigue me more and more,” Zevran says.

If only she could look sly and alluring instead of sad.  Everything that happened with her family still feels so raw.  It’ll still be news in Orzammar, especially if her father dies.  She can imagine what it’ll be like if they get down to Orzammar to find Bhelen on the throne.  

It’s the kind of thing that could lead to a lot of questions.

“I should probably open Father’s package,” Sereda says.  

“I will give you privacy, then,” Zevran says.  

When he’s gone, Sereda opens the package, heart leaping into her throat as she sees her House’s ancient seal resting on the old shield.  It’s the shield that her father sent her after on that fateful day.  

She remembers clutching it as they came upon Trian’s body and the clang it made as she dropped it in horror.  The Stone is cold and hard under her knees as she tries to find some sign of life in her brother’s body.  Her hands are covered in blood that she thinks won’t ever come off.  People are yelling at her and her father is looking down at her with so much regret.

It takes the painful bright sun above her to bring her back to herself.  She’s not down in the Deep Roads, not in a jail cell in Orzammar waiting to die.  She’s on the surface.  

She notices an envelope on the floor of her tent, and she grabs it with shaky hands.  It’s addressed ‘to my dearest daughter.’  Honestly, she has no idea if she wants to read this, but she also knows that if she doesn’t open the letter and her father dies, she’ll regret it for the rest of her life.

So with a sick feeling in her gut, she opens the letter.

> _ Perhaps you will burn this letter unread. For that, I would not blame you. But I would not return to the Stone without saying this to you: I have seen what Bhelen is. And when I saw it, I knew I had been a fool. For only a fool would cut out his own heart and burn it for the sake of appearances. I never believed in your guilt. I allowed you to be exiled because I feared an inquiry into Trian's murder would taint our house with scandal in the eyes of the deshyrs and cost our family the throne. _
> 
> _ But I have saved nothing by this sacrifice: I sent my only child into an uncertain exile. Know that whatever you do now, you bear all the honor and pride of House Aeducan. _
> 
> _ Love, _
> 
> _ Your Father _

Sereda reads it and rereads it, trying to find something meaningful in the words.  There has to be something.  She keeps trying to find something that soothes her until her vision blurs from her tears.  

Her father tossed her aside for appearance’s sake.  She had come to terms with her father thinking she had murdered her brother.  It had been a painful thought, but one she had accepted.  At least then, her execution was all Bhelen’s doing.  A just sentence, at least as far as her father was concerned.

But, as it turns out, he had never thought she was guilty.  He had let the deshyrs execute- not exile, despite what the letter says- her because of appearances.  How selfish of her father, to cast her aside and then write her this pitiful excuse for an apology.

The honor and pride of House Aeducan?  A strangled laugh works its way through her throat.  

House Aeducan’s honor and pride died long ago, and it could do nothing for her on the surface anyway.  Maybe he thought that it would mean something to her, but she knows that it was just to assuage his own guilt so he can die in peace.  

Sereda wipes her eyes.  They don’t have time for her to cry because she’s worried that if she starts she won’t stop.  She has to lead their little band to victory.  

Thanks, Father.

Now she just has to figure out what to do with the shield.  Sereda much prefers fighting with two swords, as her father well knows.  He had always lectured her about a more conservative approach to her fighting, and she had always rebuffed him.  It’s much less fun.

So, it’s not useful for her and she has no desire to keep it around for sentimental reasons.  Maybe Alistair could use it?  But, honestly, she doesn’t want to see him carrying her House’s seal every day.  He deserves better.

She could always sell it, but she also wants to do something to get rid of it permanently.  Something final.

Standing up quickly (thank the Ancestors for humans making terribly large tents), she shoves the note from her father into her pocket.  She sheathes her swords, just in case, and grabs the blasted shield.  

This time she keeps the memories at bay.  When she slips out of her tent, she’s not surprised to see Zevran’s keen eyes watching her or Alistair trying really hard not to watch her.  They’re both so concerned for her that it’s sweet.

“I’ll be back,” Sereda says softly.  

“Are you okay?” Alistair asks.  “If you’re having a problem, I’ll help.  Just tell me what you need.”

He’s so damn sweet to her.  If she thought he had a bone in his body capable of lying or misdirection, she’d be suspicious.  

They hadn’t even known each other a month when he told her his big secret- but it isn’t like being Maric’s son had meant much to her.  Just some human king with their strange human ways.  In Orzammar, Alistair and his mother both would have been raised to royal status.  She intends waiting until the last minute to tell anyone about her own royal secrets.

“I’m fine,” Sereda assures him.  She’s glad that her voice stays nice and steady.  “Thank you, Alistair.”

“Are you sure?” Alistair asks.  “We’re a team, you know?”

“I know,” Sereda says.  “I just want to take care of this.”

“Take care of it how?  It’s not magic, is it?” Alistair asks.

Sereda laughs at the thought.  She hates magic and her father hates it even more than she does.  “Don’t worry.  No magic.  This isn’t dangerous; it’s personal.”

“If you need help…”

“No, Alistair,” Sereda says firmly.

Alistair shrugs a little.  “Sorry.  I just know that being in charge must get lonely.  But you’re not alone.”

Sereda smiles bittersweetly.  She had often felt alone in Orzammar, except for her brothers.  And look how that turned out.  

“I know,” Sereda says.  “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Be careful,” Alistair says.  

“Aren’t I always?” Sereda says with a forced grin.  

Zevran pipes in with a laugh.  “We will not see her for several days.  She will find somebody who desperately needs her assistance and drop everything to help.”

Both Sereda and Alistair laugh.  She does have a knack for finding everyone nearby with a personal problem.  It keeps her grounded, she thinks.  Or, at least she hopes.  

“I’ll avoid talking to anyone.  Promise,” Sereda says as she crosses through camp.  

Sereda knows that there are some cliffs nearby, so she hikes in that general direction.  It takes about an hour, the sun still blazing too bright in the painful sky, and she’s standing in front of a nice, big cliff.

It’s so deep that she can’t see the bottom.  For a brief, wild second, she wonders if she could jump.  She imagines falling back down to Orzammar where she belongs and where the world makes sense.  It sounds whiny, but she wants to feel really in control of something again.  She wants to jump down into the darkness, just because she can.  

But the feeling passes, just like it always does.  Sereda has important work to do.  There are people who would miss her.  She’s forging a new identity for herself, and she’s interested in finding out who she ends up becoming.  Probably not anyone that she’d like, but that’s okay.

Sereda sits with her legs dangling over the edge of the abyss.  The shield is perched on her lap and she traces the design with an idle finger.  Her whole life has been defined by that symbol.  It’s been emblazoned on her armor, her clothing, her weapons, even the decorations in her room for as long as she can remember.  

Being a member of House Aeducan- especially being the most popular child- had been all consuming, in a way.  Everyone wanted to find a way to exploit her or embarrass her.  As much as she had loved her life, her House, and her family, it had been suffocating at times.

Not that being hunted by the remnants of the Ferelden crown while trying to pull together the resources to stop a Blight is a vacation.  But there are perks.  There’s freedom and the real possibility that she’ll actually be able to make a real connection with someone.

(There are always whispers in the back of her head when Alistair is kind, or Zevran is concerned, or Morrigan opens up a little more, or Leliana offers advice that it’s all fake, all an act to get something from her.  One day they will stand and smugly watch her fall.)

“May the Ancestors take you all,” Sereda says with a burst of anger.  She’s suddenly too disgusted by the shield in her lap to keep it there, and she pushes it into the abyss.  “Every last blasted member of the nobility and the royal house.”

She’s breathing heavily and her eyes are blurring with tears again.  Ancestors, Sereda wishes she could just feel normal.  

Sereda peers over the edge and bursts out laughing.  She can see the yellow glinting against the green leaves.  It didn’t even fall properly.  There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

Her brother is dead and she can’t even drop a shield off a cliff right.  Her brother is a murderer and the symbol of their House is still staring up at her from the darkness.  Her father let her die for appearance’s sake and there’s no way that she can escape being an Aeducan.

Her heels rub against the stone (she misses the Stone) and she’s still laughing.  She hasn’t really taken the time to consider before now the fact that everyone and everything she’s loved and worked for has been taken from her.  Ancestors, she misses her brothers, her father, and the way things were between the four of them.  She can’t even look back at her childhood with happiness because it’s all been tainted by Bhelen and Father.  All of it.

The sun is hanging low in the sky, looking unbelievably large.  She doesn’t understand how or why the sky streaks so many colors when the sun rises or sets, but it’s undeniably beautiful.

Sereda knows she should get back to camp.  Her friends will worry if she’s gone past dark.  She wants to linger to cry for her family and for herself in solitude, but she can’t.  

There is too much work to be done, so she scoots away from the edge and gets to her feet.  Her tears flow freely for the first part of the walk back to camp, but as she nears parts of the forest that look familiar, she stops crying.  

She appreciates the life she lived as a princess; it gave her excellent control of her emotions.  At least, of her outward expression of her emotions.  Actually controlling them is still beyond her.  

By the time she reaches camp, she’s stone faced, no hint of her prior lack of composure.  She nods at Alistair, sitting out on watch, but doesn’t come close enough to talk.

Sereda approaches the fire, kneeling.  Covertly, even though she can’t see anyone walking, she pulls the letter out of her pocket.  She reads it one last time to make sure that she’s memorized it.  These will, most likely, be the last words she ever receives from him.  It’s impossible to shake decades of love and care, no matter how sharp the betrayal cuts.  

Once she’s done, she looks up into the sky.  The stars are just starting to come out as darkness sweeps through.  It’s still as far away from the Stone as a person could possibly get, even if the night sky is better than the day.  

With a sigh, she looks back down to the fire and slips the letter to burn.  She watches, making sure that every last scrap is burned.  The last thing she wants is to physically carry her family with her.  

It’s gone, finally, and she’s not surprised when she looks up to see Zevran’s bright eyes watching her from his tent.  She raises her chin just so, the way she always did when she knew the nobles were watching her for signs of weakness.  

Sereda gets up and heads to her tent, taking her clothes off and stretching out.  The day has been so long, but all she can do is stare at the ceiling of her tent.  

“Sereda,” she murmurs into the darkness, really listening to how her name sounds all on its own.  No titles, no House, just her name.

Good, she decides.  It sounds good.  She can’t escape her family or name, she knows that, but she’s got more of her own identity than she ever has had in her life.  

It’s too much to contemplate, so she closes her eyes and goes to sleep.


End file.
